


Black Walnut and Ginger

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP set during the Autopsy ep., with House and Cam having a ‘bonding’ moment around a certain kind of herbal tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Walnut and Ginger

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I owned House, would I be writing smut? Hell, no, I’d be doing it with House. And selling the video on the Internet. Because it’s expensive to keep guys like him supplied with Scotch and smokes.  
> Betas: Many thanks, as usual, to my gorgeous beta katakombs.  
> Author’s Notes: This didn’t happen in canon. That we know of, anyway. Spoilery for 'Autopsy' ep., obviously.

House felt like crap today. Well, OK, he _always_ felt like crap, but today more so than usual. Because on top of the usual thigh pain, he had a goddamned _cold_.

His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. _Damp_ cotton wool. His nose was already reddened and his lips dry and chapped from blowing his nose every five minutes. His throat wasn’t sore - yet - but had that burny/scratchy feeling, the one that usually came right before the full-on throat pain hit. 

But Jimmy (or rather, “Jibby”) had a case for him, a new puzzle - nine year-old girl with cancer and unexplained hallucinations - and House figured if he had a choice between staying home and being miserable, or solving the puzzle and being miserable, he’d take the latter. Besides, at home there’d be no one to bitch to, about how crappy he felt. And he could probably sneeze on Cuddy and get out of clinic duty, as an added bonus.

 

  


*~*~*

 

Allison knew immediately that House was sick. Even without the sneezing and the Kleenex box in the crook of his arm, his eyes were red-rimmed, his nose also red, and his voice had a foghorn quality to it...and despite herself, despite how cruel he’d been to her recently, she couldn’t resist the urge to do something nice for him. She couldn’t help herself, that’s what she _did_ \- she _cared_. Even when the person that she cared about was a _jerk_. So, she dipped into her secret stash of teas, deciding to make it for him instead of his usual coffee.

When House walked into the conference room, still miserable, he didn’t expect Cameron to be there, holding out his red mug to him. She usually made the coffee, yes, but she’d never _served_ it to him before. 

He hesitated for a moment, almost expecting a trick. Had she spat into it? Poured in laxatives? But he knew that wasn’t her style. Though he wouldn’t have put such a thing past Chase, _she_ was far more likely to yell at him than to try to poison him. So, he took the mug.

When he took his first sip a few moments later, after assigning the Ducklings to their various tests (and taking digs at both Cameron and Chase in the process - he was sick, but he wasn’t _brain_ -dead), he got a shock. _That’s not coffee_ , he thought, making his patented ‘Ew’ face.

“What the hell is this?” he asked Cameron, before she could amscray after her compadres.

“Black walnut and ginger.” she replied. She was tempted to snap at him, after his remark about how she was going to get all ‘warm and cuddly over the dying girl’, but she kept her voice calm and even. Nonchalant, in fact.

_Interesting,_ he thought. _I treat her like crap, and yet she still tries to help_. It was so _typical_ of her, so _weak_ , he would’ve usually thought…and yet, he now found himself actually feeling a bit _comforted_ by her actions. “It’s nice.” he found himself saying to her. _You’re nice,_ he almost added, but he didn’t know if it would come out of his mouth snarky or _otherwise,_ so he choked it off. Besides, he suddenly had a much better plan in mind...

 

  
*~*~*

  
Allison was surprised when House did, in fact, bring them bagels. Sure, he’d made the offer, but she’d never expected him to _actually_ do so. _Is Armaggedon_ _here?_ she asked herself wryly.

And since this was an event that might never be repeated, she plucked a bagel from the bag - sesame seed - and chowed down. She didn’t notice House’s triumphant stare. 

House realized he was watching Cameron eat the bagel, so he distracted himself from her for the moment by sending Foreman and Chase off to run some tests. He had other nefarious plans for his third Duckling, however. Given that she’d consumed a bagel, he now had a clear playing field. Although _she_ didn’t know it, yet.

“And what am _I_ supposed to do?” Allison asked him. She’d put up with his earlier dig about how she’d wind up battling Andi’s mother for custody, but…if he kept pushing, she might just start spiking the tea – he’d obviously stolen a few teabags from her stash, shortly after he’d finished drinking the first one - with laxatives. If he thought his illness was going to spare him her wrath, he was going to find out that he was _very_ mistaken.

House put on his best poker face. “You follow me.” And he didn’t give her any explanation, just limped off out of the conference room and down the hall. _She’ll follow me,_ he assured himself.

He didn’t stop until he reached his destination – one of the supply closets, in one of the less heavily-trafficked areas of PPTH. But yeah, he’d been right, she _had_ followed him. Was right behind him, in fact.

Allison wound up standing beside House, her arms crossed over her chest as she watched him turning the doorknob and opening the door to the supply closet. Un _believable_. _He calls me away from the case, just to get me to help him lug office supplies?_ _This,_ she told herself, _is what comes of making yourself House’s unofficial secretary._

House motioned Cameron in ahead of him, noting the stiff expression on her face. He glanced around quickly, but they seemed unobserved, so he went in behind her.

Allison glanced around, wondering what supplies they were short of, trying to anticipate what House wanted, so she could get this over with and get back to the case. So when she heard the door shut behind her, and then a scraping sound, and turned to see that House had opened one of the spare bridge chairs in the corner and was now dragging it across the floor, towards the door, she wondered what the Hell was going on.

There was no way to lock the supply closet from the inside, so he had no choice but to use the old tried-and-true method of wedging a chair under the door handle. Risky, but that was half the fun, wasn’t it?

Allison still wasn’t sure what House was doing, right up to the point where he swagger-limped right up to her, invading her personal space, and then leaned in. _He’s going to kiss me,_ she realized. _Nuh-uh!_

House knew she’d try to stop him – that was what he had come prepared for, after all. So he wasn’t surprised at all when Cameron put her hands on his shoulders, holding him firmly back. God, if only his nose wasn’t still so blocked up, if only he’d been able to smell her perfume…not that he didn’t know already what it smelled like, after all those _other_ times he’d invaded her personal space, but he would’ve appreciated it nonetheless.

“What?” he asked, feigning confusion.

“You’re _obviously_ trying to kiss me, House. And besides the fact that you don’t _deserve_ a kiss from me, you have a _cold_.” No way was she going to let him steal a kiss that easily. Not after all the trouble he’d given her over Cindy’s case.

“So what if I have a cold?” he asked, leaning his weight against her hands a little. Boy, seducing Stacy that first time hadn’t been _half_ as much fun as this was turning out to be.

“You’ll make _me_ sick, too! Don’t I already put up with enough from you?” she shot back. Funny, a few weeks ago, P.S. (Pre-Stacy) she would’ve _jumped_ at the chance to kiss House. Amazing the difference a few weeks of verbal abuse could make. Although the feel of his shoulders, surprisingly firm and warm under her hands, even through two layers of clothing....

_Enter my diabolical plan,_ House thought. “Oh, don’t let _that_ stop you, Dr. Cameron. I already made sure to handle and _cough on_ those bagels a few times, before you ate any. You know my motto, ‘share and share alike’. So, you’ve nothing to lose. And besides, I’m your boss, so it’s your job to do what I say, and right now, I say-“

She didn’t bother to wait for the rest of what was sure to be a highly inappropriate remark. _He’s trying to make us all as miserable as he is! And I fell for it! I should’ve known he’d contaminate the bagels!_ Although, on the other hand, it wasn’t _really_ his cold that was making her hold herself back (well, hold him back). And she _knew_ it.

“So,” she said, mounting her last line of defense, “I should just _ignore_ the fact that you were a total asshole to me last week? When I was trying to help a patient-“

She was wavering, he could practically _smell_ it – well, maybe not, all things considered, but the _principle_ held. “So what? I’m _always_ an asshole.”

_Well,_ that’s _certainly true._ And it hadn’t stopped her from being attracted to him. Even now, with Stacy in the picture, despite what she had said to him about letting him go. Still, she didn’t want to give in too easily. Even if this _was_ what she wanted. “More so than usual.” she finally said flatly, removing her hands from his shoulders and backing away a pace or two.

He gave her his most lecherous look. “I’ve got _other_ parts that are also ‘more than usual’, Dr. Cameron. Perhaps you’d like to do a little comparison study?” He moved forward, certain that she was about to give in, despite her banter.

She kept moving back even as he kept moving forward, until she was pressed against the back wall and there was nowhere else to go. Not that she really wanted to be anywhere else. _Eat your heart out, Stacy,_ she thought. And then tossed her last verbal bomb at him. A challenge, of sorts.

“Oh, so you mean not only _are_ you a big prick, but you _have_ a big prick?” she teased, finally allowing herself to smile tauntingly at him.

“Indeed. And soon, you’ll be able to personally attest to _both_.” He took one more lurching step, and then his weight was pressing against her, pinning her back against the plaster, and his hands were on her waist.

He leaned in to kiss her, and she didn’t care anymore about the fact that he was sick, about the nasal quality of his voice. She didn’t care about the way his stubble rasped uncomfortably against her face, or the faint taste of black walnut and ginger tea on his lips and tongue. This wasn’t how she’d fantasized it happening, not on those lonely nights when she’d been unable to stop herself from wondering what might have happened if she’d actually taken Chase’s advice and _jumped_ House. Not in a supply closet, not in the middle of the day, and certainly not with a sick House.

But this was better. He was very warm – fever? the doctor part of her brain asked – and his hands were strong and the weight of him pinning her to the wall was strangely comforting, and the way his tongue was dancing in her mouth made her sag against the wall. Not to mention the incredibly hard bulge in the front of his jeans, pressing into her belly.

He cursed again his cold, and the resultant reduction in his ability to properly _taste_ her. But at the very _very_ least, this little activity would distract him from his annoying symptoms. He backed off for a second, and then grasped Cameron’s shoulders and turned her, making her face away from him.

Almost automatically, Allison brought her hands up, bracing herself against the wall, as House’s large hand pushed the loose fall of her hair off to one side, off the back of her neck and over her shoulder. She shivered - as if she was already sick with a cold, herself, but it was for a _much_ different reason – as she felt House’s hot wet mouth, and the sharp little pricks of his stubble, moving along the back of her neck, kissing and exploring.

His nose was filling up again but he ignored it for the moment, just as he was ignoring the insistent _whining_ from his thigh. He had more important things to do. Her skin was _so_ soft, the mass of hair he still held loosely in his left hand, over her shoulder, even softer. And the shoulder beneath his right hand was all fine bones and sinewy muscle, even through vest and blouse. Would she let him take things further? He snagged his cane from where he’d leaned it against the wall earlier. He was about to find out.

Allison jumped, gasping quietly, as the handle of House’s cane suddenly glanced lightly over one of her nipples. Even through her clothing, the hard wood made her tingle. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, even though she knew the answer.

“Me? I’m _teasing_ you. I thought that was fairly obvious…If it _wasn’t_ , I suppose I could get _more_ obvious.” He made sure to say it low and growly – though he was starting to whistle when he breathed (damn stuffy nose), which was kind of spoiling the effect.

His cane disappeared from her field of vision, but the reprieve was only temporary, as she soon felt the hard shaft of his cane right between her thighs, against the crotch of her pants, and pressing firmly between her legs…and the hard shaft of his other ‘wood’ pushing insistently against one of her buttocks. She pressed down and back against him, moaning, _wanting_ …

Before his thigh could perform a preemptive strike on their activities, House pulled back from Cameron, even more reluctantly than last time. “Go grab a chair from over there,” he said, indicating the same pile of bridge chairs that he’d raided earlier. “Oh, and you see that box of condoms over there?” He pointed with his cane. He’d noticed them earlier. He supposed the supply to refill the washroom dispensers had to be _somewhere_. Why _not_ here?“Snag us one, would you?”

_Is he actually going to_ \- she didn’t allow herself to complete the thought, just went to gather a chair and a condom, smiling to herself as she heard House blowing his nose and groaning (obviously in annoyance) behind her.

He let her open the chair for him, and then plunked himself down, pegging the used Kleenex at a garbage can by the door. He missed, but he didn’t care. Setting his cane down on the floor, he reached out and took the condom from her, shoving it into one of his jeans pockets for the time being, and then caught Cameron by the waist, pulling her towards him and down, until she was straddling his good thigh.

“Now, where was I?” he mused aloud. His hands started to undo her vest, and then he pulled the hem of her blouse out of her pants. “Oh, that’s right, I was thanking you for the black ginger and walnut tea.” His hands snaking under the hem of her blouse as he spoke, and then sliding callused fingertips over her skin.

“Black walnut and ginger,” she corrected him, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers brushed over a ticklish spot. “And this is your way of ‘thanking’ me? Giving me your _cold_?” _God, those hands._

“Nope. _This_ is.” He slipped his left hand out from under her blouse, finding a new hold on the back of her neck, and pulling her into another deep kiss. While his other hand made a caressing glide up to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb teasing her nipple through her bra.

She shuddered, blushing and warm and tingling all over, and hoping to God that this wasn’t some kind of febrile seizure she was experiencing. She took it all in eagerly, the hot slide of his tongue in her mouth, the way his stubble scratched her, his hard thigh tight against her crotch, even the feel of his hands, wrapped around her neck and breast still. God, she was so aroused. _This is worth it,_ she mused, even if she _did_ get sick as a result.

He wished she hadn’t worn pants today, but obviously he wasn’t going to send her home to change. Instead, he coaxed her up off his lap, only long enough for him to undo her pants and let them fall around her ankles. He let her kick them off and out of the way, but stopped her from losing her underwear. Her panties were white, partly lace, and had tiny bow in the front. _Cute,_ he thought. He grabbed her elbow, dragging her (willingly) back into his lap.

She tried to get _him_ to lose some clothes, grabbing the lapels of his blazer and trying to get it off of him, but his arms were tight around her and he refused to help her. And then she forgot all about stripping him, as one of his hands released her and instead made a beeline for her underwear, tracing light fingertips around her clit through her damp panties. She shuddered, heat going all the way from her sex right down to the soles of her feet, arching her back and moaning, and then biting off a gasp as House’s mouth rasped against her throat once more. And then she was trying not to giggle, as he began to snuffle, his nose already clogging up once more.

It was dangerous, staying here for too long, so as much as he wanted to draw this out, make it last, he pulled his hand back from her underwear and instead went to work on his own zipper. But then soft hands were pushing his aside, and it was Allison who was undoing the snap and zipper, working free the buckle of his belt, and pulling his erection free of his boxers. So he went back to teasing her, nibbling at a nipple through layers of blouse and bra, pushing the crotch of her panties to one side so that he could search through her wet folds for the most responsive points.

She closed her hands around him, stroking and exploring, trying to fully appreciate the evidence of his arousal, but he was distracting her most efficiently. She didn’t even mind the slightly uncomfortable feel of his calluses rubbing against her, or the fact that she couldn’t really feel his mouth on her breast properly with all that clothing in the way. Or that when he turned his head away from her and coughed, as quietly as he could manage, that he almost shook her right off his lap in the process.

He wanted her, he decided. Right. Now. So he guided her back and then eased her gently up and off his good thigh. Swallowing around his sore throat, he pointed unceremoniously to Mr. Happy and said hoarsely. “Condom. On.”

Allison rolled her eyes, unable to resist getting a dig in. “Yes _Massa_.” But she took the condom package he held out to her, tearing it open and then unrolling it onto his thick shaft.

This time, when he pulled her in, he made sure she was straddling his entire lap. She might jar his bad thigh, but it was a risk he was willing to take. “I thought slaves were supposed to show their Masters a little _respect_.” he quipped, guiding her down onto him.

She met him stare for stare, but there was a smile on her lips. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dr. House, I happen to hold the ‘upper hand’, for the moment. So if there’s a ‘Master’ in this room, I don’t think it’s you.” To underscore her point, she only let the head of his erection push inside her, pausing and smiling wickedly as he groaned. And forcing back her own moan.

“Touché.” he replied, reaching out to grasp her hips, trying to urge her downwards.

This was just _too_ much fun to pass up. How often was she going to have him at her mercy like this? “Wow, you speak not only Portuguese and Spanish, but _French_ , as well?” Holding her position.

That was when his impatience got the better of him, and he _growled_ , wrapping his arms around her waist and _forcing_ her down onto him. “I speak ‘Caveman’, too.” he whispered mockingly. 

But Allison was too overwhelmed to respond right now. At least verbally. The sudden thrust of him inside of her had felt _incredible_ , and now she was aching for more. She found herself riding him frantically, thrusting up and down rapidly, wanting to watch him lose control, wanting to lose control herself. He wasn’t the _only_ person currently in the supply closet who had gone without sex for a good long while.

So, it wasn’t long – especially since he was also rubbing the heel of his hand in small circles against her clit as she moved up and down against him – before she gave in, throwing her head back and biting her lower lip to muffle her cry as she came, every inch of her sweaty and hot and tingling.

The feel of her muscles rhythmically pulsing around his shaft did it for him. Well, seeing how pretty she was as she lost control didn’t hurt, either. He grabbed onto her hips firmly one last time, holding her down and still in his lap, and then he groaned low in his chest and expended himself into her. And for a few moments the pain in his thigh and the mild burn in his throat and the annoying clogged feel in his nose ceased to exist.

He let her rest against him for a few long moments. “Better than chicken soup,” he finally quipped. “Even better than your black almond and ginseng tea.” _I’ll have to do this again, sometime. Soon._

She just laughed quietly and eased up and off of him again. They really _were_ tempting fate by staying here any longer. “It’s black _walnut_ and gin _ger_. But _thanks_. Glad to know I’m capable of outperforming a hot liquid.”

“Well,” he added, removing the condom and pegging it at the garbage can – this time, hitting his mark – “you _do_ have hot liquids all of your own-“

“Let’s _not_ go there. Unless you want me to ‘Master’ you again, right now. And besides,” she continued, pulling her pants back on, “we _do_ have a patient. Wilson’s probably paged you fifty times by now.”

His pager _had_ gone off during their little romp in the closet – vibrating mode – but he’d ignored it. He pulled it out now and checked it as he did up his pants. “Only twice.” he corrected.

“Right.”

Finally dressed, they looked at each other critically. “You’re all sweaty and flushed.” he informed her.

“So are _you_ ,” she shot back.

“Hm.” Looking around, he spotted a stack of paper toweling, and he limped slowly over and grabbed a few sheets for each of them. At least they could fix the sweaty part. Too bad only time would fix the flushed part. Oh well, he supposed they could kill a _little_ time here legitimately. “Do we need any supplies?” he asked her.

 

  
*~*~*

 

Three days later, Allison was _miserable_. She definitely _had_ caught House’s cold, though whether the bagel was the culprit, or the repeated sexual encounters she’d had with House since, she didn’t know.

But, of course, he wasn’t cutting her any slack. So here she was in the Diagnostic Medicine conference room, blowing her nose _way_ too often and cursing her sore throat and dry lips, and waiting for her lover to finish making the coffee (“You’re too diseased,” he’d said. “Can’t have all three of you sick at once. Gotta space out my enjoyment of the team’s misery over time, you _know_.”), and for her work colleagues to show up.

Before long, he was setting a red mug in front of her. Picking it up, she saw that it wasn’t coffee, after all.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, smiling a little. Though, of course, she already knew.

“Black walnut and ginger. Bon appétit.”

 


End file.
